


you should see me in a crown

by MoonlightShines (Thatkillervibe)



Series: Killervibe Week 2019 [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Parenting, Dark Past, Doppelganger, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Killervibe Week, Parent-Child Relationship, Self Esteem, earth 8, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-10-01 22:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkillervibe/pseuds/MoonlightShines
Summary: Some things in life just don't make sense. Some things just aren't fair. The world is weak, fragile, and needs to bend to her own will.That's what Reverb always told her, anyway.





	you should see me in a crown

**Author's Note:**

> This is my masterpiece, in the series we (@Ciscoscaitlin and I) have created, and the first instalment of this universe.  
Huge shout out to @Vibefrost on Tumblr for creating gorgeous fanart for this fic.  
You can find it here: https://vibefrost.tumblr.com/post/187329039185/killervibe-week-day-3-doppelgangers-finally
> 
> (Cut me some slack, I’ll fix that massive link later.)

Amalia wiped the rain soaked hair out of her eyes and gritted her teeth, staring down from the high rise edge. Her footing flirted with balance as her dad’s eyes bore into the back of her skull. Dawn peeked from darkness over the horizon of Central City, but it was still dark and bitterly cold here in the shadows. 

“Where is your suit?” 

She narrowed her eyes through her goggles, zeroing in on her focal point. A lady with twisted yellow coloured pants hauled her baggage down the empty sidewalk, opening up her bodega. 

“I don’t need it.” 

“The hell you don’t,” Reverb growled.

Amalia stiffened, she did. But only for a moment. Only for a second before stepping over the drop. 

She braced for the heart pounding exhilaration and drop dead fear of free fall. For the wind to whip wildly against her face, but a strong hand reached out and pulled her back roughly. Amalia stumbled, breathing heavily as she landed back on the roof, her breach sucking closed. 

“Dad! What the hell?” 

She glanced where his gauntlet glove was pressed on her arm. His hand was long gone but her stomach twisted yearningly for it to return there and she hated that. 

“Wear the fucking suit I made for you or we’re done.”

She stepped backwards, further from the ledge of the roof to the laddered exit. “Fine with me.” Amalia rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to frickin' be here.” 

“Excuse me?” 

That burning anger in her dad’s eyes never failed to scare her. But she knew how to avoid his wrath just as easily as she knew how to crush someone’s bones with a clench of her fist. “I said. I don’t want to be here,” she snarled. Her hair was starting to frizz under the downpour and she swore under her breath, wiping the rain droplets from her goggles again until she gave up on doing that and hurled them into a vortex that would land on her severely unmade bed her dad had dragged her out of too early this morning. 

Reverb laughed once, the sound coming out hollow. It was nearly impossible to make out what he was thinking or feeling, with his eyes now covered up again just like hers were, but she thinks she mustered her desired effect. The corner of his mouth curled up. It felt an awful lot like quiet, vile respect. His hair plastered against the back of his neck and he suddenly knelt down in a puddle until his leather pants were drenched. Amalia swallowed down her apprehension as she looked down at him before her, the way he remained calm and chillingly collected.

“You are a child,” he said. “You know nothing about this world and what it will do to you. And until you excel at everything with the finesse of an expert, you will train. You will work. You will breach and vibe blast every morning until you prove you don’t need me.” 

“I don’t need you,” she spat. 

“Don’t lie to me, nena.” Reverb got up from the cracked cemented ground. “Do what I say.” 

Reverb pointed into the blue circling breach behind her without a care, like he were about to banish her to the hellish underworld. “Go home and don’t come back until you’re dressed properly. Don’t make me wait.” 

Amalia groaned in frustration, sticking out her middle finger at her unfazed father but obeyed because she had to. 

Her boots squelched on the hard floor at home. She shucked them off and passed a mirror. She remarkably resembled the likeness of a drowned rat. She sighed, wringing out her hair as she grumbled under her breath. 

“Fuck this shit. Fuck training. Fuck my _ life. _” 

“—Amalia?” 

Amalia looked up to see her mother still in her black satin bathrobe, her silver hair piled up in a lazy bun on the top of her head. 

_ “Mom.” _

Her mom returned to the master bedroom and emerged with a fluffy towel, draping it over Amalia’s shoulders and drying her off. The teen melts into her mother’s touch and smiles for the first time that day. 

Killer Frost gave a little smirk as she dried off her daughter, placing an ice cold kiss to her forehead.

“What’s the matter? Daddy’s causing you trouble?” 

Amalia frowned at herself for being so readable. 

_ That’s dangerous_, dad always tells her. It leaves girls vulnerable and exposed to being cheated. 

Still, she nodded, biting her lip. 

Killer Frost rolled her eyes with resignation, and kissed her again, resting her cheek against her damp hair. “Tell me he at least fed you.” 

Amalia made a vague noise. “We had a few twizzlers.” 

Her mother scoffed. “I meant _ breakfast. _” 

“Is that not breakfast?” she mumbled back. 

The arms around her are not warm, never have been, but they’re the best comfort Amalia has ever known, and she’d cling to her forever if she could.

“Mama, I don’t want to go.” 

“I know,” she hushed, running her long nails down her back. “I know, but you know your dad. He just wants you to be your best.” 

“Doesn’t feel that way.” 

“No?” Killer Frost smothered her forehead with as many kisses Amalia could tolerate before brain freeze washed over, and she had to gently push her mom away. 

“I’m sorry,” her mom apologized, walking down the stairs towards the kitchen, the steps frosting over behind her. Amalia watched her step as she followed. “I just woke up.” 

Killer Frost flicked on a kettle and grabbed her Kill dampener necklace to clasp against her throat. “There we go.” 

The tech lit up, signaling its activation. The hair on her mother’s head grew duller, not quite so starkly and Amalia smiled at her open arms, running to nestle back into her side. 

“Amalia, my sweet dangerous girl. Happy birthday.” 

“It’s really today?” Amalia peered into the cup of tea that was slid to her across the long dinner table. She found it amusing that her parents refused to give her coffee, as if she hadn’t figured out where they kept it on her own. 

Her mom chuckled, raising an amused eyebrow. “Same day as every year since you were born. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Dunno.” Amalia played with her chipped black nails. “Thought I’d feel older.”

She took a sip of the black tea, warming up slightly. 

Nora West-Allen boasted her ass off when she turned thirteen. Amalia thought maybe it meant something then. To be a teenager. But then again, Nora had always been an over-dramatic pathological liar. 

“Well you look it. Certainly not my baby anymore.”

“Then won’t dad stop treating me like one?” 

A funny expression passed Killer Frost’s face. One Amalia didn’t understand. 

“He’s not treating you like a baby,” she said firmly.

“Right,” Amalia muttered, irritation itching under her skin. “Forgot how obsessed you were with him and how it warps your judgement.” 

Her mom’s eyes flashed a warning as she snapped her fingers, instantaneously instilling a cold front that sent chills down Amalia’s back. It was her mom’s favourite form of discipline and it damn worked too. Killer Frost’s dry finger snap echoed loudly as she scolded her to watch her mouth. 

She knew she wasn’t allowed to talk about her mom and dad that way. But god, why the hell not? The way her dad put his hands all over mom all the time left Amalia oftentimes nauseated. Joss had once taunted her for it. Called her the product of a noxious nuclear family up in flames. 

_ “You’re just jealous that my dad knows of my existence,” _she’d sneer back and get slapped for it. The sting on her cheek was never so bad in light of the look on Joss’s face. 

“Amalia,” her mom said now. “Why’d he send you back?” 

“We’re done for the morning,” she lied. “What’s my present?” 

A noise swooped above them before Killer Frost could answer, and Reverb came stalking into their kitchen, trailing a river’s worth of water behind him. “Oh, so you’re _ not _ dead? Because I can’t think of any other reason for why it’s taking you so damn long to do _ as I said. _”

Amalia’s mom glared pointedly. “You were leaving him _ waiting? _ You told me you were done.”

“Lying to your mother now, too?” 

Reverb leaned his arm across the dinner table to kiss Killer Frost. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, kissing her some more. She yanked at his collar, dragging him closer to kiss properly. 

He smirked and let her go, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket with that glassy grin he sported everytime he got his way with her. He smacked his lips, plopping down in his chair, and threw his own jacket on the floor.

“You’d lie to that face?” He pointed at her mom. “Wow nena. That’s diabolical.” 

Amalia rolled her eyes. 

“Back off, honey. It’s her birthday.” 

Reverb hummed distractedly, stealing her mom’s tea cup and finishing it all in one long gulp. “Oh? Is it?”

Amalia stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly with disbelief. She could hardly believe his audacity. Her dad didn’t even remember? 

Killer Frost smacked his thigh. _ “Cisco.” _

He looked up from the empty mug, startled, then caught Amalia’s heated glare and snorted. “Oh my god, I was teasing you. I know it’s your damn birthday.” 

Reverb’s face softened for a minute and he gave her a somewhat fond smile. “Happy birthday, mi pequeña reina” 

For one moment, Amalia’s heart soared. 

“Now put on your suit.” 

“Ugh!” 

“_ Now _.”

Amalia stood up abruptly, screeching back her chair and stomped away. 

“Whaaaat?” she heard him yelp from down the hall. “Not so cold! It was a_ shit _training session. We got nothing done!” 

~.~

Her room was large, beautiful and lonely. Amalia pressed her palm against the wall scan with little enthusiasm as the wardrobe opposite raised and whirred, exposing the glass case. Her goggles still sat in a wet spot on her bed. She ignored it for now, pulling her long sleeve shirt over her head. 

She passed her mirror and stopped, looking at her own reflection calculatingly.

Her hair was too curly. 

Her face too round. 

Amalia’s fingers traced over her scars, messy and ugly all over her stomach and arms. 

The rest of her was... too damaged. 

Her suit taunted her from its stand, waiting for her to give its attention. 

Well. Whatever. Her dad won’t shut up until he gets what he wants, she might as well get it over with. Maybe then she’d get to do what she wanted for the rest of the day. 

She shimmied into the tight pants and let the glass case open to reveal her purple suit, slipping her arms into the leather and fastening it closed. She put on new socks and grabbed her high tops, lacing them up. 

After blow drying her hair so she’d no longer catch pneumonia, she slipped her goggles on and came downstairs. 

Her parents didn’t notice she was back. Amalia stood with her arms crossed over her chest, clearing her throat as her dad had her mother half laid on the table, climbing over her to ravish. Killer Frost’s pale skin peeked out, exposed from the slinky bathrobe slipping down her shoulders as Reverb ran his hand underneath whatever was hiding under there. 

Amalia gagged, going green. Maybe Joss was half right. This _ was _ noxious. 

“Mom? Daaaad? Hellooooo?”

Reverb knocked off everything on the table with a haphazard sweep. Ceramic mugs went crashing to the ground. Killer Frost moaned. 

Amalia threw up her hands and quickly walked away. This entire family was a bag of cats. One minute her dad loses his shit over her not wearing a damn jacket with the shoes to match and the next she bothers to give a damn only to find him sticking his tongue down her mom’s throat like they were on a one tacked-minded mission to make Amalia a baby brother. 

She peeled off the suit and put it back in on its stand then straightened her shoulders and turned away, changing into something else to wear as she waited for her flat iron to warm up. 

She ran it over her curls until they were pin straight, snuck into her mother’s bathroom and scoured through the cabinets for her makeup to apply eyeliner and lipstick. She laughed as she messed it up the first time. Nora made it look easy. Soon she was looking the way she felt she should, now that she was a teenager and she contemplated what to do with the rest of her day. 

Amalia knew she couldn’t breach out of her room without her dad somehow figuring out. 

He was scarily on point with that. So she got on her hands and knees and pulled out the cardboard box with her old stuffed animals from the back wall in her closet, shifting open the tunnel she had stumbled upon three years ago. Neither her mom nor her dad knew about this exit, and the day Amalia found it she nearly cried with excitement. For a girl who could go wherever she wanted to, she felt pretty trapped. The tunnel was her life boat. She wouldn’t know what she’d do without it. Amalia looped her fingers through her handle of her packed bag, and crawled through the opening until she landed in the dead field off the side of her house.

She squinted up at the sky. Sunlight now streamed in through the clouds. The dark threatening ones have rolled away. This pleased her as she made her trek down the path, through the secluded forest, and out the back gate. She glanced back at the estate over her shoulder. Killer Frost told fanciful stories of how they acquired the large mansion in the farthest overshadowed edge of Central City. How it was abandoned, and the perfect escape from other powerful meta-families they had to protect themselves from. Amalia used to listen to those stories with wonder, admiring their badassery. 

She knows now the gaps in the stories. How she had once tripped over an old portrait of the family who used lived here. How her parents most likely murdered whoever this place must’ve belonged to. She wondered what family could live here, luxurious in solitude and equipped with a basement fit for Reverb’s lair. 

She shrugged, adjusting her shoulder strap. Couldn’t have been any better people than them. 

Amalia grew tired of walking, and flicked her wrist to open a breach. She landed in Nora’s bedroom. 

Nora and Joslyn shrieked when she appeared, caught off guard where they were lounging on Nora’s giant canopy bed. 

“God, and I thought Nora was bad,” Joss muttered once she caught her breath. 

“Hi Amalia.” Nora flattened her braid. “Oh my god, my dad would have a fit if he knew you were here.” Her eyes lit up with mischief, nearly vibrating in place. 

Amalia shoved Joss off her spot on Nora’s bed. “Then don’t tell him.” She was in no mood to see The Flash today. Nora’s father gave her nightmares. 

“I was sitting there.” 

“Shut up Joss, let her sit. It’s Amalia’s birthday.” Nora leaned forward and hugged her. 

Amalia froze. Nora was a bit of what she’d call a sporadic whirlwind. Her temper rested on an interval about the width of a hair, her mood pendulum swinging from manic pixie to borderline psychopathic. Her reputation as XS was there for a reason. Just three days ago Nora threatened a hand through her chest when she pissed her off, her eyes burning red with negative speed force. 

Nora’s fingernails dug into the fabric of Amalia’s shirt, clinging tight. 

Amalia patted her back awkwardly, shooting Joss a helpless look. 

Weather Witch stood up abruptly. “Are you coming with us? We were just planning on meeting Raya.” 

“Where?” 

“Downtown,” said Nora, pulling away. The speedster zipped off and returned with some fancy looking tech. 

“Don’t tell Don, but I took these modulators I found from when I was snooping in his room. _ So _ shway.” She handed the devices for her friends to look at. “Dad pawned them from—” Nora looked up. “From your dad actually,” she said, nodding to Amalia. “They make everyone around you easily susceptible to your demands. We can walk into wherever we want with whatever we want.” 

“Power of persuasion,” Joss said. “I like it.” 

Amalia liked it too. But she didn’t like downtown. She trained there, sure, but only in the early morning before the rest of the city was awake, so high up and above all the mass destruction, she felt she was touching the skyline. 

“Doesn’t that violate your parole?” 

Nora laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. 

Amalia kicked at an empty Big Belly Burger bag left on Nora’s floor. A fry carton rolled over littering salt all over the carpet. 

She hasn’t been to juvie. Not _ yet, _ says Joss.

Not_ ever _, swears Amalia’s parents. 

No, she _ hasn’t _ been to juvie but she _ has _ almost been caught and it was always because of Raya and Nora trying to pull off some ridiculous downward spiralling scheme. 

The girls were somewhat older than her, Amalia the second youngest after Nora of the four. They had seen things Amalia hasn’t yet, and she knows they all have bitterness they keep inside. 

But sometimes Amalia can’t help but think she’s the only one with a screwed-on functioning oxygen flowing brain. 

  


Nora turned on her heel, dragging Amalia by the hand out her door. Joss followed closely behind. They passed Nora’s brother in the hall. Amalia lowered her head, refusing to meet his gaze. 

Amalia feared Don. 

She tugged on Nora’s tightly clasped hand to urge her to use her powers and speed the schrap up. 

“Are those my modulators?” Don asked, his voice vibrating in his signature gritty monster pitch, resembling the sound of a broken scream. 

“No,” Nora said like an idiot. “They’re Amalia’s.” 

Amalia raised her head, alarmed. She began to stutter, absolutely not wanting to get into Don’s warpath. 

“Like Amalia has the balls to steal something from me. She wouldn’t dare.” 

Joss huffed. “Whatever. Nora is borrowing them, leave us alone and we’ll get out of your hair.”

_ “Joss! You bitch!” _

Amalia’s hair flew into her face as the wind whirled around her. Nora’s hand was no longer clutched on hers. She looked up to find the Tornado Twins brawling against the walls, lightning crackling between them as Nora screamed at her brother. The story goes that the two have been fighting since they were in diapers and Amalia often wondered how far their hatred for the other would go. There was no love between them, not even mutual respect. She held her breath as her stomach twisted with unease when Don banged Nora’s head against the floor, begging this wasn’t the day Don killed her. 

Amalia turned to Joss. “Aren’t you worried for her _ life?” _

The older teen rolled her eyes, raising her weather staff to strike lightning and zolted the twins with a bolt. 

The twins sprang apart, seizing on the floor as Weather Witch spat in Don’s face. “Learn some fucking chill.” 

She zapped him again for good measure as he flopped unconscious on the floor. She picked the stolen tech from his limp grasp and returned them to Nora, offering her a hand to help her sit up. 

Nora heaved, wiping blood from her nose. “I didn’t need that. I had him.” 

Amalia opened a breach and Joss threw her staff through the dimensional tear into Nora’s bedroom.

“Sure, XS.” 

The girls met up with Silver Ghost and put their plan into motion. Nora fastened the modulator to the base of Amalia’s neck, getting really close. “There,” XS said. “It looks like a cool tattoo.” 

Her skin pinched her under the tight claws of the attachment but she swallowed and agreed to make her life easier in hopes to mollify Nora. 

The tech worked like a charm. Raya and Joss managed to bankrupt three boutiques with the loot stolen from the two of them, Amalia standing behind watching with internal bafflement as they kindly asked the high end manager to hand over all their expensive clothes for free. Amalia managed to swipe some makeup of her own in her proper colour shade, knowing her mother’s porcelain-like skin would look like halloween makeup on herself. 

By mid afternoon, the sun was beating on their backs, and their arms were heavy from holding bags with more than they knew what to do with. 

Amalia swept her dark hair to the side, away from the the hidden modulator. She pried it off like a prickly thistle. Amalia considered the tiny machine. Could she...control dad? If she kept it? 

Like hell that was a good idea. Tempting as it were. 

Nora said Reverb made them. Amalia blinked back down at the modulator.

Had...Her dad ever used these on _ her? _Would he? 

She didn’t think so. 

Would her father really sell tech that could make people susceptible to The Flash’s will, of all people? No. She knew Reverb’s trade better than anyone. He wouldn’t give up dangerous tech to him unless he wanted The Flash to have it. Or it wasn’t as dangerous as perceived. 

Amalia nodded to herself and held out her arm, the bug in the palm of her outstretched hand. 

“I think I’m done now.” 

“Says who?” sassed Nora. 

Suddenly, a blue breach appeared in front of the teens. Its swirling vortex swished menacingly, beckoning Amalia back home. She hid her grin. 

Silver Ghost snorts. _ “Uh oh. Daddy’s calling.” _

Amalia shrugged, making a show of shuffling her feet forward as if this wasn’t what she was secretly (embarrassingly) wishing for. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Loser,” taunted Nora, her eyes narrowing angrily. But XS changed her mind at the last minute and instead gave Amalia a smile. “Actually, you know what. It’s okay. You go. Happy birthday.” She pulled a lacy purple bodysuit from one of her many bags. “I got you this. You’ll look great in it.” 

Amalia shoved the bodysuit into her own bag hastily. “Wow. Cool.” 

“Bye, Amalia,” said Joss, but she seemed already bored, moving further down the street to follow Raya. 

Reverb was waiting for Amalia at the other side of the breach with his arms crossed. 

Home was dark, Amalia thought as her vision adjusted to the lack of light. The breach sucked close behind, locking her in. 

A finger beckoned her over. Amalia dropped her bags in the hall and sauntered breezily. 

“Hi daddy,” she greeted innocently, playing up her big brown eyes. 

“Hmph.” He pointed at the carpeted floor under his chair. “Sit.” 

Amalia sighed and did as she was told, crossing her legs. 

“Had fun with your little juvenile friends?” 

  
She raised a cheeky eyebrow. “Had fun defiling mom on the kitchen table?”

Reverb’s face first slackened with honest surprise but corrected itself quickly, rearranging into a sly smile sparkled with mirth. He tapped his nose. “Touche.” 

Amalia spread her hands backwards as she looked up at her dad expectantly, wondering exactly how much hot water she was in and what she could get away with. 

It was like he could read her mind. 

“So,” he said at last, leaning forward. “What did we learn on our little field trip today?” 

“Uh.” Hey eyebrows pulled together in thought. “That Nora’s a bitch?” 

Reverb laughed, seemingly pleased. Amalia said the right thing. Her shoulders relaxed as her father’s own rigid posture began to melt away. “She’s a West-Allen. We already knew that.” He waited for more.

Amalia thought of Nora’s grabby hands. “And she’s clingy. It’s kind of creepy.” 

“Is she?” 

“Kinda,” Amalia said again, not wanting him to get the wrong idea and ruin the girl. 

She watched her father toy with an idea with slight trepidation. 

“Daddy,” she said. “It’s whatever. It’s no big deal.” 

He waved her off. “Nah, I know it’s not. But don’t ignore it. Work with it.” 

“—But.” 

“Use it to your advantage. With time you could probably get her to do what you want. Wouldn’t that be nice, mi nena?” 

Amalia didn’t know what to say. 

“I guess.” 

Reverb rolled his eyes. “Good. Well. You’re excused.” He motioned his fingers in a little runaway gesture. “Go on. Ditch day’s been hard on Flopsy not me. That’s animal cruelty, you know.” 

She gasped, guilt eating at her core and she ran up to her room because her father was right. 

Her bed was unmade, her blankets spilled over the floor from where she was dragged out by, and she nearly tripped over her markers. 

She scooped her bunny up from its cage, cuddling its quivering body to her chest. She cooed at him, stroking his velvety fur. 

Flopsy’s nose twitched. 

“Are you hungry?” she crooned. The bag of imported baby carrots next to his cage was near empty. She took the last three and deposited her pet on the floor, plopping him between her legs. She waved a carrot in front of him, beckoning him to come get his lunch. 

Flopsy didn’t move. 

“You dumb blind bunny.” 

She cupped Flopsy’s fluffy butt, and drew him closer to feed him. 

Amalia’s thoughts wandered. 

_ Thirteen _, she thought. 

_ Thirteen _. 

Amalia Ramon is goddamn thirteen years old and is celebrating it with a rousing round of manipulative shoplifting, homeschooled supervillain lessons, and a dumb blind rabbit to call her own. 

  


Fuck. 

~.~

Amalia’s alarm lights flashed around in her room, her alert system she had created which warned that her father was about to breach in unannounced. She threw Nora’s gift and her swiped goods under her bed, scooped Flopsy, and picked up her abandoned sketch book. She just managed to plop into her chair as her father stepped in. She looked up, playing casual. 

“Normal people knock before entering a teenager’s room,” she greeted dryly. 

“Oh? Is that what you are now, nena?” He strolled right in. “Your bed isn’t made.”

Amalia rolled her eyes in disdain. _Nena._ Baby. How many more years will it take for him to stop calling her that? And does Reverb pull the sheets up his bed? She didn’t think so.

Amalia didn’t know, honestly. It’s been years since she’s been in their room.

“I thought we had people to do that.” 

“I have people to do that. Because I have that power. You’re not there yet.” 

Amalia turned a page, analyzing her old drawings. “Uh huh.” 

“Wow, you’re sound so bored Amalia, it’s like you’re begging me to return your present.”

Amalia sucked in an excited breath, snapping her gaze up at him. “Present??”

Sure enough, her father had reached into a breach and pulled out a gift box, wrapped in ribbon and paper with blue and gold. “What? You thought I forgot?”

Killer Frost peeked her head into the room. “I heard the word present.”

Amalia let go of Flopsy, leaving him to hop over her blanket and made grabby hands. 

Reverb dropped the box onto her lap. Amalia tore off the lid with a frenzied eagerness, the tissue paper inside going flying. 

Inside was a crown. She lifted it out of the case, inspecting closely. It had to have been stolen. The gems in it were real, and so was the silver. Her father’s proud smirk confirmed her theory. 

“Whose was it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Killer Frost reassured with a small smile. “It’s yours now.” 

Reverb went to place it on her head. Amalia grimaced, ready for the crushing weight, but found that it was light. 

“...How?” she wondered aloud, reaching up to her head to feel for herself. 

“I played around with its properties. It’s not worth giving you migraines, mi pequeña reina.” 

Amalia stared at her lap, willing herself not to cry. 

_ Stop being stupid. Stop seeking his validation. You don’t fucking care. _

But she did. 

Amalia stood up and made her way to her mirror, appreciating her reflection. 

She rolled back her shoulders, stood tall and made herself look proud. 

Killer Frost came beside her and kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday. You are our whole world.” Her mom glanced at her father, who merely crossed his arms silently. She shot him an expectant look. 

“You’re better than anyone in this fucking place,” he said. “Don’t forget that.” 

Amalia returned him the box. Their fingers brushed, and the tell tale sign of her father being thrown into a vision mirrored her own. She breathed in sharply through her nose as the room tilted, tinging blue. 

There, she saw herself throwing a powerful blast as her father slammed someone down by the jaw against a table. They worked in tandem. Her eyes were hidden beneath the goggles, but her body language screamed that she was at ease turning enemies to bones and dust.

The image flickered, and there she were again, older, taller, with long nails like her mother and the very same crown atop of her head. She gave a conceited smirk, perched on her father’s ‘throne’, the ornamental furniture which centrepieces Reverb’s basement lair. Her legs were lazily swung over the edge, her head tipped to the side in amusement. The gauntlets on her gloves were smoking.

She raised an eyebrow challengingly, acknowledging her. _Hello nena._

A chill ran down Amalia’s spine. They both gasped out of it, her father a bit more loudly. 

He gave her a sidelong glance, his mouth twitching at the corners, pleased. But she was scared of what he saw, and what it means. 

He put his hand on her back for a second. Amalia felt his warmth through her clothes. “You’re better than anyone in this place,” he repeated once again, his voice sounding far away. “I saw it.” 

Reverb walked out. Killer Frost watched him go. She studied Amalia, unable to read what just transpired.

“We’ll go shopping in the morning,” she informed curtly then nodded. “We can have dinner at seven. Tell me what you want and I'll make it happen.”

Flopsy nibbled at her toes, thinking they were carrots as Amalia remained frozen in her bedroom, wearing her beautiful crown. 

Fuck. _Fuck_.

She was thirteen with a promising career in _terrorizing _in front of her. She had to change this future.

~.~

“Again.” 

Amalia gritted her teeth, pushing the pulsating energy from her clenched fists. The sonic boom bounces off the mirror and she ducked, narrowly missing the fatal blow. 

“_ Again _, nena.” 

She cries out, blasting the mirror. Shards of glass shattered and she covers her head, letting her breach swallow her feet as she crouches to avoid the impact. She hears Reverb swear as the woosh goes past her ears but she doesn't have the time to turn her head and make sure she hasn't struck him. 

She falls through blank space flailing, and screams. Her heart leapt to her throat as her hair whipped against her face. She tries to focus, thinking of a place to land, realizing she never sent a signalled destination. Was she going to fall through dimensions forever? 

_ Home. Bring me home. Bring me home! _

She lands hard on her ass and drops to the ground, panting. She covers her heart, her eyes still squeezed shut as she regains her composure.

“Dad?” she croaked. 

She took a deep breath, then frowned. 

It smelled. It smelled funny. Her nose tickled, and Amalia slowly opened an eye up at the sky. 

She saw trees. 

_ Trees with colour. _

Her hands brush against the prickly mass underneath, twigs and sticks and leaves? She’s in a bush. Amalia sits upright with alarm. 

She’s in a_ bush. _There are tall trees all around blocking the sky with obstacles, the sun is bright. She can’t see skyscrapers. She can’t see the broken city. She smells nature. 

She’s in a fucking _ bush. _

They lost vegetation in Crisis. Central City didn’t _ have _ bush. It has roots and tall dying forests with barren oaks and birch. Empty, dark melancholy places to hide mansions and practise crime. 

The last time she saw a full tree was in an old _ picture book. _

A car honks and she jumps out of her skin. She plasters herself against the rough bark of this tree in the vividly green park. 

She doesn’t understand. She said she wanted to go home. She’s never _ failed _at breaching before. How could she? She’s been training since she was six. This was downright mortifying. How could she have end up so far away? She needs to go back. Now. Like. Five minutes ago. Her dad is going to skin her alive. 

The street is not busy, but not quiet either. Amalia calculates the likelihood of being caught breaching in the open. Such open. She has nowhere to go. Where were the crooks and crannies built into infrastructures designed by every American urban planning map? The ones crucial to protect from lethal meta attacks? 

Is she no longer in the right _ country? _

It won’t matter. She’s not staying here in this creepy place. Her ears picked up a sound, and she looked up at the branches to see birds flitting around a nest. Amalia gapes, watching robins feed their young, chirping and singing. Healthy. 

“—Amalia!” 

She startled, turning her head to her father’s voice. Relieved. Her dad came. He came to rescue her from this place. He’d learned his lesson, finally. She began to smile. “I’m—“ 

—Here!!” A girl calls, stumbling out of the large house across the street. She pants, her hands on her knees.

“I’m here! I overslept! I made you something, Daddy. Before I go. You know how you said Ellie kept getting into your prototype cabinets? Well, I present to you…” She straightened up, rummaging through her blue backpack and pulls out a contraption. “A solar powered lock with a frequency distributor! It’s Ellie proof! Well—Breacher proof. I tried it myself. Can’t get in. Cool, huh?” She bounced on her heels. 

The man with her father’s voice turns around, his face, delighted. 

“What!? Mini me, that’s _ genius. _” He high fives her, and she throws her arms around him. He reciprocates. 

Amalia stares, horrified. She stumbles back. 

It was dad. That was dad. But he wasn’t calling _ her. _

“Amalia!” A woman calls, coming out of the house. “You forgot your lunch!” She stood tall and slender, with beautiful brown hair and kind eyes. Eyes with spark. With light, unsuppressed. She wore a white blouse and a blue ruffled skirt, and waved a biodegradable bag. She looked nice without straining effort. Gentle, even. Caring. 

Amalia tilted her head, tingling with anxious unease as realization hit her like a truck. 

That was mom. 

A blue breach swirled open and the woman tossed the bag into it. Her lunch dropped into Dad’s outstretched hands. Dad passed it to the impostor, and kissed her cheek. “You’re going to kill it at camp, Ace.”

Ace smirked up at him with Amalia’s wicked grin, the one that made Reverb chuckle and call her devious. “I know.” Her smile fell, and she shifted, looking sad. “I’ll miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you too, sweetheart,” dad promised. He wasn’t lying. “I love you. Now remember, no breaching in plain sight, but if you’re feeling homesick, you just give me a call and I’ll be right over.” 

“Yeah. I know.” 

Amalia’s fingers dug into the bark, scraping blood. Dad packed a suitcase into the vehicle. 

The beautiful woman called into her house. “Kids! Say goodbye to your sister! Her bus is here!”

Two boys walked out. One tall with long hair like dad’s with a shock of blond at the tips. He held a skateboard painted with icicles. The other, smaller, quiet, holding a really little girl in pigtails. 

_ She has a baby sister? _

The kids huddled together, sharing a group hug which mom joined. Dad looked at them all squished together, and laughed. A real one. Not maniacal or dangerous. 

It sounded free. 

She gasps out loud. 

Ace turns her head. Their eyes meet. 

Amalia yelps, throwing her shaking hand behind her as her legs give out. She chaffs against grass, tears burning her eyes. She falls into a pit, and cries out in alarm as her breach sucks her back into the ether. She didn’t mean to open a breach! She didn’t want to leave— damn it. 

She wanted to go home. The real home. With Ace. Who looks happy, and loved. Who wore short sleeves and had no scars. Who looked pretty with bouncy curly hair that actually suited her fucking face. If Amalia touched Ace’s skin, would it be cold to touch? Would it numb her fingertips, did she need to thaw like Amalia did? 

Of course not. Of course not. Of fucking course not! Not this Ace. Not this Amalia. Not this stranger who went to camp because that existed here in this _ utopia _. This imaginary real life place where life didn’t suck! It didn’t suck at all! It was a life, a meaningful one. The one she should be in. The one with a family and a home and birds and green trees. Those three kids all younger than her. Siblings. Brothers and a sister. Amalia wasn’t even allowed to have one to share the lonely mansion with. Ace gets three?? Where was she? Where could this possibly be? How could she go back and hoard it all for herself? 

Where her mom isn’t white and frosty, her hair is _ brown _ (normal!!!!!!!!!!!!) and her smile is warm. And this version of her father, of Reverb, with the biggest grin on his face. Who fawns over scraps of melded metal instead of pawning, _ killing _ for it. 

Whose laugh is like music. 

Amalia falls and Reverb catches her ankle from the edge of the roof. He snarls, murderous. She twists, jutting her hands out for the ground, away from the drop, refusing to look down. She could’ve fallen to her death. 

She lands roughly, it would’ve scraped her skin if she weren’t wearing gauntlets.

“Get up,” Reverb says. His eyebrow trickled down blood, a new gash peeping out from where his goggles would’ve ended their protection on his face. 

Amalia caught her breath, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “Did I hurt you?”

She reached for him with trembling fingers as he bent down, but he evaded. 

“It doesn’t matter. Get up.”

Her guilt washed away, contempt taking its place. How pathetic could she be? Begging for scraps of affection. She was never going to get it from him. Now that she knows what he’s capable of. 

Reverb cocked his head to the side when she didn’t obey immediately. “Where did you run off to?”

She wanted to scream at him that he was failing at the world’s simplest job. That caring about her should’ve been easy. Should’ve come natural. That he was doing everything wrong.

But he’d ask her why and she’d tell him about the utopia. He’d think her powers were unchecked. That she’d need further training. He’d push her limits. He’d make her go back and—And ruin it. The utopia. He’d make her snap her fingers to crumble the earth, to shatter their beautiful homes and captivating brothers and adorable baby sister. He’d destroy them all.

That’s what Reverb always does. 

Amalia couldn’t let him do that. Not to Ace. 

“Nowhere,” she bit out. “Blank space. I liked it.”

“It nearly got you killed. You’re crying.”

“I thought you said risk was part of a breacher’s life.” 

Reverb drew back on his heels. Wiping at his blooded brow. He studied her with an eerie intensity. 

_ Tell me you love me. Just tell me you’re proud. Give me one reason to stay. Smile at me the way you did at Ace. _

Reverb’s eyes widen at her pleading, needy expression and scowled. “You’re right. I did. _Get_ _up_.”

~.~

Amalia hovered against the door as she watched Killer Frost pour antiseptic into gauze, cleaning her father’s cut. 

She wondered if the mom from Utopia was a real doctor. With real patients. A real clinic, not a room with equipment stolen from hospitals. 

Reverb hissed as Killer Frost pressed against the wound. “Stay still,” she cautioned, her voice hard. 

It was hard. It was absolutely hard. There’s nothing soft and kind about that sharp tone. Amalia was horribly mistaken to have ever thought otherwise. 

She knew better now. 

Amalia waited until her dad was fixed up and gone before hedging her way in. 

Killer Frost was screwing close caps, reorganizing. Amalia’s gaze fell to the Kill dampener necklace against her mother’s throat. 

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever thought what life would be like without your ice?”

It was a weird question. Killer Frost’s hands paused over her supplies. Her mother was born a Snow. Both of her parents carried the metagene for ice. It was all her mother knew. 

But her answer surprised Amalia. 

“I have.” 

“And?” 

I lived it, briefly. It was some time ago now.”

Amalia stepped forward and sat on the medical cot. “What was it like?”

“Thrilling. Every thought came with deliberation. I felt with my heart.”

Sounded like utopia. Amalia swallowed down her trepidation. “And what did you do?”

Killer Frost gave her an honest look. “I had you.” 

Amalia let her words sink in to digest. She closed her eyes slow and careful. Her mother was a different type of villainy than her father. One who was born into isolation and cold. Killer Frost was not compatible with what mothers were supposed to be made of. Compassion, gentleness, patience. And yet, Amalia could not help but discover little pockets of those qualities sprinkled into her mother’s personality anyways.

If Killer Frost was given a different life, if she wasn’t born Frost, if she didn’t crave apathy, what would she be? She was detached, indifferent to life and death, with only enough room to care for two people. Her daughter and her husband. But what if circumstances changed to allow growth for more? 

Her father was the opposite. It was not that he was indifferent, but too involved. He was powered by his emotions, always passively angry, and it made him unpredictable and dangerous. Reverb was notoriously clever in his calculations, deliberate and senile with a burning hatred for this world, and a passion to destroy everything but his own kind. He sought out the bad and shaped his own image to reflect their broken world to build his own kingdom and increase his gain with little regard to consequence.

Everything fit into his puzzle, but Amalia, even after all these years had yet to understand what would be his final completed picture. 

Amalia didn’t know what kind of evil she was. Catastrophic like XS? Spiteful like Weather Witch? Heinous like The Flash? Malice like her father? 

She was young and bitter who wanted too much. Who expected too much in the meaningless crap of a life she was given. She was never going to be anyone. She was never going to be anything. 

Every morning she was trained to perfect her skills, to become the perfect protege of Reverb, but she didn’t even have a name of her own. She had no reputation, left no mark on this city. Maybe she was like her dad, maybe he’s right to think she’s his to create. Her temper was driven by her own problems, which she’s always thought were worth being mad about, but what were they really? She had two parents and a house and a handful of friends.

But something niggled at the back of her mind, whispering that she didn’t belong here, that she deserved more. That she saw what she could have and she should grab and take it.

Her evil must be greed. 

“If I could be happy. If I could be like that. Would you want that for me?” Amalia asked her mom, thinking about Ace in those stupid flip flops and flying curls. 

Killer Frost thumbed her daughter’s cheek, her long nail scraping frost against her skin. “I want nothing more.”

Something stirred in her chest. Amalia never considered that maybe she didn’t _ have _ to be like them. And what if, then? 

“What if I—“

Mom’s face clouded over, the tenderness, gone.

“No.”

“—But if I could.” 

_ “No.” _

Amalia clenched her teeth in frustration. Her mom didn’t even know what she was going to ask!

“Mama—“ she pleaded. “Just listen.” 

““Don’t run away again, Amalia. This world is dangerous. You know how so.”

That wasn’t fair. She had run off thousands of times, yes of course she had, but they wanted her stuck in this house like a puppy on a leash. Sure, she was brash and idiotic half of those times, and yes, Amalia had once made a terrible mistake of leaving. 

But this was to someplace good. Where people didn’t hunt others down, where watching your back was more of a precaution than what was necessary to survive. 

_ Yes _ . _ This _ world is dangerous. Dark and hopeless. 

But there are others. And if there’s anything she had learned from Reverb, it’s this: Impulse is dangerous and wild but necessary. If her gut says she wants, then she wants. There’s no use denying that. 

_ In this family, we take what we want, nena. But only if I say so. _

Amalia will find her way back to Ace and steal her life. Amalia glanced at Killer Frost, who had resumed cleaning her supplies.

She’ll just never tell them. 

  



End file.
